Haunted
by Emerson Ryan
Summary: Harper is as haunted as they come in a world thrown into turmoil, but broken recognizes broken. What will it take for two people to come together when everything seems to want to keep them apart? An OC/Daryl fiction.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: Saviors**

"_To often do we look at people for safety when we should be looking to ourselves for salvation from the terror of the world."-Anonymous._

* * *

I watch the way the dust dances in the shaft of light that has made its way through the makeshift boarded window, and for a second I can just drift between dreaming and reality, a place where I can make myself believe that this is just another morning, and I'm home in the tiny two bedroom apartment that I shared with Kamy, and_ Him_.

Shifting my hand causes little sparkles of light to bounce along the wall, remembering a simpler time when I held the childhood belief that any and all glittering lights were Tinker Bell in flight and searching for Peter. The pretty ring on my finger seems out of place against the layers of dirt and blood that cake my hands, and just like that I'm sucked out of the in between and plucked back into harsh reality.

Kamy stirs and I don't even have to lift my head off the pack serving as a makeshift pillow to know that Nessa has been up for hours, keeping a steady watch on the road just beyond our somewhat secure sanctuary. It has all sadly become routine. So much time has passed. Too much. I didn't bother trying to keep count in the beginning, holding on to the desperate hope of _"any day now."_

Any day now the government will come in. Any day now the world will be put to right, and this, whatever this was, would be nothing but a bad memory, something written about in history books. But soon days started melting together, one into another, into another, and before any of us knew it, too many days had passed and it was impossible to face anything but the harsh truth that nobody was coming for us. Yet we survived. The four of us.

Somehow we made it through the madness of the beginning days. The pillaging and scrambling. The hot tempers and easy to ignite fires of passion and fear propelled us into the bitter cold winter. Even when sickness struck three of the four we managed to pull through it all.

Until six months and ten days ago. In hindsight I know that making a go for the veterinary college was stupid, but the hope for medicine and sanctuary was so strong and our desperation too high. We should have taken into account the ability of four people, and realized that it was a task just too big for us to handle.

But _He_ insisted, and we listened. Convinced that since we had made it that far and that long we could do anything. As if we were somehow untouchable, unbreakable, and unchangeable. How arrogant the human spirit can be at times.

"We should go. A storms rolling in and from the looks of the sky it's going to be loud and draw walkers from miles around," Nessa's voice breaks into my head and in answer I sit up forgetting the sun and my thoughts.

"The sun is shining Nessa, I think we'll be okay for one more day," Kamy says her voice thick with sleep, and if I could, I'd smile, knowing that this is just Kamy's way of rebelling against her older sister.

"The sun won't be shining for long," Nessa murmurs, and silently I stand, shoving my blanket into my pack before slinging it over my shoulders. I take one small drink from my water bottle before making my way to the door, my hand on the knife on my hip.

"Harper," Kamy's voice lilts through the air and I turn my head looking at my sleepy best friend, "Another day right?"

I nod silently unable to bring myself to speak.

Nessa was right, like she often is, and I can't help but find some relief in the rain that falls. It's the closest thing to a shower that any of us has had in longer than we care to think about, and I enjoy the water that soaks through my shirt making my blonde hair stick to my face and bare shoulders. We walk close to each other, our footsteps light not that they would be heard under the pounding rain anyways. And like a unit we duck under the overhang of a row of shops and with a silent nod we climb through a broken window.

We disperse, searching for anything that might be of some use to us. There isn't much, a few dented cans of fruit, a box of matches, and a can of lighter fluid, but it's something. I set my findings on the counter and watch idly while Kamy continues on her search as Nessa's footsteps are steady over our heads.

That's when I hear it, the sound of feet crunching on glass, and my heart begins to hammer against my ribs as I drop to the floor scrambling behind the counter my knife heavy in one hand as I try to regulate my breathing and not make any sound. Movement flashes in the corner of my eye and I turn my head slowly finding that Kamy is on the other end of the counter, her back pressed tightly against the wood, her finger held up to her lips and I nod slowly.

I worry for Nessa, but to be honest; out of the three of us she's the most capable of getting herself out of a tight situation. The footsteps are slow and methodical and I twitch just slightly when I hear a soft whistle, and another set of footsteps comes closer, stopping just on the other side of the counter.

"This is good, we can use this," the voice is rough but soft, barely above a whisper, and part of me wants to scramble up and tell whoever it is to go find their own shit, but I don't. The minimal supplies are not worth my life, or my friends. I pray for them to just take the meager findings and leave. Let us get through this unscathed.

"Well, well, well what do we have here?" a sarcastic voice drawls out and I can't react as a strong hand grips my wet hair pulling me up from my hiding spot, "She'll be fun."

"Let her go!" Kamy screams and my eyes flash over as Kamy struggles against her captor, and I plead with her silently, fear of what I know is going to happen filling me.

"Mmm, feisty, I like the ones who have some fight in them," the other man says, his greasy black hair swinging in his eyes, and then a shot rings loud and his head explodes dropping him and sending Kamy sprawling onto the ground. I sob beginning to struggle feverishly against the man holding me but he doesn't let go. Instead he turns me so that I'm standing between him and the person holding a gun.

"Drop the fucking knife," Nessa spits her eyes lit with fiery rage and the knife being held against my throat bites into my skin and I feel the blood roll slowly down my throat. An all new fear fills me as I see two more men approaching and I know it's going to be the end for us.

This is how we'd meet our demise. Not because of the walkers, or illness, but at the cruelty of the hands of fellow human beings.

Then something surprising happens. One of the men holds his fingers up to his lips, and the other lifts a crossbow and I don't think. I react driving my elbow back forcing my captor to turn just enough to get me out of the line of fire, and then the weight of his arms are gone, his knife bouncing at my feet, and I feel for one dreadful second that I'm going to be sick.

"Ya'll okay?" A gravelly voice asks and I can't respond as Kamy's arms come around me her tears hot as they soak through my shirt.

"Who are you?" The answer is lost to me as I collapse.

* * *

**Author's Note**

**There you have it, the first chapter of Haunted. I sincerely hope that anyone who stumbles across this story enjoys it. I am going to try and stay close to the storyline of season four. It will probably veer off course towards the end of this story, and really become my own wild imagination with the future stories. I should say now that I do not legally own TWD or any of it's Characters, but the OC's are my own. **

**If you liked what you've read so far, leave me a review, favorite, and follow.**

**Much love,**

**Emerson :)**


	2. Chapter 2: Three Questions

**Chapter 2: Three Questions**

"_Some questions are better left unanswered."-Anonymous._

_The sun is warm on my back as I lay on his chest smiling at the way he spins the ring on my finger, his dirty blonde hair catching the late afternoon light. _

"_What do you think your Momma's going to say when we tell her?" I ask opening my palm to his fingers, shivering just slightly under his touch._

"_Well it's about damn time boy! When do I get some grandbabies to spoil," He says in a high pitched southern drawl, and I laugh shaking my head at him._

"_Well, we should get on that, wouldn't want her to be disappointed in the grandbaby department," I say seriously, and he laughs, that wild laugh that I fell in love with as he rolls me over…._

I wake with a start sitting up straight blinking my eyes trying to clear them of the tears that have formed and find Kamy and Nessa standing guard over me staring at the two men from before.

"Hey," Kamy kneels beside me her blue eyes filled with worry as they search my face, "You okay? How's your head, you hit pretty hard, wouldn't doubt if you have a concussion." I wince as I lift my hand and feel the lump that has risen on my head and when I pull it away I see the smear of blood on my fingertips, my stomach rolling viciously.

I get to my knees bracing my hands on my legs, fingers digging into the denim of my jeans head spinning fiercely as I try desperately not to vomit.

"She okay?" a deep voice filled with genuine concerns rolls through the tense air.

"She's fine," Nessa blurts out ranging herself in front of me, "We've thanked you for your help so you can be on your own way now."

"Listen, we have a place, a safe place. You'll be welcome, and we have someone who can look at her head, she hit it hard and that cut will get infected before too long…"his words trail off as Kamy surges to her feet in excitement.

"We have to go," Kamy says her voice filled with hope.

"We don't know them. For all we know it's a trap, you know what people are like now. If Tho—if _he _were here it would be different, but_ he's_ not, and I won't take that chance, not with you, or her."

"It's our only chance and you know that! What are we going to do? Keep going, like this. She's concussed," Kamy says motioning to me, "How long do you really think we are going to be able to keep going like this. They saved us; why in the hell would they do that? Not everyone left is depraved. We vote, like always, and I vote we go."

"I vote we don't," Nessa grinds out through her clenched jaw. They both look down at me, and I hate that I'm the tie breaker. The fear and worry on Nessa's face speaks volumes, but Kamy is right. We won't last much longer on our own if today is any indication of where things are headed. So, I get shakily to my feet taking Kamy's hand before turning my eyes to Nessa, nodding my head slowly.

"Fuck," she murmurs rolling her eyes before turning back to the two men waiting on our answer.

"You'll have to answer some questions first," the taller man says his voice diplomatic and even.

"What are you, a cop?" Nessa asks her voice annoyed.

"I am, or was," he says evenly and I watch him. Really watch him. He's an attractive man, tall and slender, wiry would really be the right word for him. His eyes are piercing if not a little haunted, and there is a tiny party of me that wonders just what his story is.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Nessa murmurs motioning with her hands for him to ask what he has to ask.

"How many walkers have you killed?" and I stare at him perplexed. What kind of question is that? Like we kept some kind of sick tally; they may be monsters now, but they once were human beings. Somebody's loved one.

"I don't know, as many as it's taken to keep us alive this long," Nessa says her voice portraying my annoyance at the question.

"How many people have you killed?" a deeper more gruff voice asks and for the first time I really look at his partner. He scares me on a very human level. Rough around the edges, with eyes that scream of bloody fights and a deep seeded anger that probably consumes him. The question all but knocks the wind from my lungs, and I fear for a second that I might just collapse again.

Closing my eyes the scene plays back in my head like a movie on a loop. The blood, the fear, the tears all of it, and it takes Kamy's hand squeezing my hand to pull me from it.

"You saw me kill someone right in front of your eyes, and you know what would've happened if I hadn't," Nessa says her voice growing hot.

"She looks like she has something to say," the angry one says, his eyes meeting mine with a condemnation I can't seem to wrap my head around.

"That isn't our story to tell," Kamy says her arm coming around me offering support as much as solidarity and comfort.

"You understand that we can't take you to our people without the answer," the tall one says and I clear my throat.

"One," my voice is hoarse, "I've killed one."

"Why?"

"Because he made me," one single infuriating tear trails down my cheek as I lift my head and meet their gaze.


	3. Chapter 3: Silver Lining

**Chapter Three: Silver Lining**

"_You have to do everything you can, you have to work your hardest, and if you do, you have a shot at a silver lining."-Silver Linings Playbook_

Like my Mama used to always say, _'there's a silver linin' to every cloud, you just have to find it.' _For a long time now I haven't even bothered trying to find the positive in anything, and maybe this is the universes way of giving us a break, for once.

I stare at the elaborate gate protecting of all things a prison. I used to be terrified of places like this, knowing the things people did to end up here, and now look at me; at us, finding refuge in a prison. I sit up slowly my head feeling as if it weighs a thousand pounds and aching so fiercely that I have to clutch onto the seat and convince myself that it would make a bad impression if I vomited in our rescuers vehicle.

"You okay?" Kamy's voice is a whisper in my ear and I nod wincing.

"Feel like I'm going to puke," I murmur my voice still hoarse and Kamy chuckles lightly, "What?"

"Nothing, I'm not laughing at you. It's just, incredibly nice to hear your voice again. I seriously thought you'd never speak again after…well you know," she says taking my hand lightly.

"Yeah, I know…" my thoughts trail off as the car comes to a slow stop and suddenly my nerves take over. A ball of worry forming in the pit of my stomach as I see people gathering around, and I strangely feel like we're on display in some kind of zoo or something. It's stupid really, to feel self-conscious of the blood and dirt that mattes my skin and clothes, but I can't help it. Everyone on the other side looks clean, fed, and happy even and every single one of them are staring speculatively at the car. At us.

I watch as the man who introduced himself as Rick gets out, a gangly boy walking to him, and he lays a hand on his shoulder. Their exchange is short before the boy turns and stalks away, has to be tough raising a teenager when the world is going to hell. Rick turns and opens the door on my side of the car.

"Come on, Hershel needs to have a look at your head," his voice is gentle as he holds a hand out to me and for a moment I hesitate. Horrible visions of being carted away from the only family I have filling my head, but I stamp it out. I have to think positively. Even if it kills me.

Hershel is an old man with white hair and a fluffy white beard that makes me think of Santa Clause. His eyes are kind as he works the bandage onto my throat, and with a soft hum in the back of his throat he sits back and looks at me.

"Not deep enough for stitches, but you should keep it covered for a bit, let it heal some," his voice is calming as he rinses his hands in a bowl, "Now let's take a look at your head." His fingers are gentle as they press onto my scalp and I wince instinctively jumping as a breath hisses from my lips.

"Hurts," I mutter and he smiles a knowing smile.

"It will for a good little while. Feeling any nausea?" he asks and I nod slowly, "Have you thrown up any?"

"No," I answer and he nods sitting back again.

"That's good. I'd say you got yourself a good concussion dear, but you should be just fine. You'll need to take it easy for a few days, and I'll be keeping an eye on you just as a precaution. When's the last time ya'll had a real meal, shower, or decent night's sleep?"

"Honestly? I can't remember," I say and he smiles that kind smile of his and he holds a hand out for me.

I take it and he tucks my hand into the crook of his arm, "Well I'll let you escort an old man to dinner then."

I sit nestled between Kamy and Nessa, picking at the food in front of me. Hershel's mere mention of a decent meal earlier awakened a hunger in me I had learned to ignore, but once we entered the dining area, and all eyes were on me, I retreated to my family. They asked about my head and my throat, I answered honestly and quietly, and kept my head down, uncomfortable under the speculating eyes that I know are trained on us.

"This is so good," Kamy murmurs as she slowly chews, a sigh of contentment sounding from the back of her throat, "Like seriously good. My compliments to the chef."

"It all seems too good to be true," Nessa mutters, "Which means it probably is. We need to stick together, seriously. I don't want either of you alone with any of them."

"Will you just stop Nessa? God, they have kids here. Do you really think some blood thirsty psycho's would keep kids around?" Kamy's voice is filled with anger and I roll my eyes. Sure they love each other, but like most sisters they fight like it is nobody's business. I leave them to it, expertly tuning them out as I dare to lift my eyes and scan the faces that surround us.

Most of them are grouped together laughing and talking, and a stab of jealousy pierces through me. Where was this six months ago? Why didn't we have the luck of finding this before now? Why couldn't _he_ have made it to see this? The questions circle viciously in my head and I feel the control on my emotions slipping away.

My eyes blur as they land on the pretty blonde holding a baby to her chest gently rocking her, and she smiles. A soft friendly motion and I come undone. I push up and turn stiffly ignoring the way Kamy calls my name. I press on, ignoring the footsteps fallowing behind me, and as soon as I get through the doors I gasp for air.

Too much, it's all just too much. I can't make sense out of anything. The hell we have been through, the blood and fear, the endless running, and suddenly we're just plucked down into peace and tranquility, as if everything leading up to this point was nothing more than a big test, and this is the Universes way of saying _'congratulations, you passed.' _

My hands ball into fists at my side, and I let the anger roll through me as I walk slowly over the grounds of the prison yard, but my footsteps are halted when I come across the makeshift crosses, and I drop to my knees.

How foolish can one human heart be? Of course they've lost people. Nobody gets through this world unscathed. It takes and takes, giving very little back, and who am I to hold anger against a group of people who have come together and managed to make something of the very little they are given? I let out a shuddering breath refusing the tears that surge desperately in search for release. Instead I swallow them, ignoring the way my throat thickens and burns.

If the universe is handing us an opportunity I'm going to hold on to it with both hands, and make something of the little I'm being afforded.

He watches her. He doesn't know why he followed her out, why he felt the need to do so. Seems to him that her friends are more than happy to follow after and coddle her, and well, that just isn't Daryl Dixon's way. He has no time for blubbering females.

But broken recognizes broken, and the girl with hair like sunshine and the raspy voice is broken in about ten thousand pieces. So he keeps his distance, watching with mild curiosity as her hands bunch into fists at her side, chest heaving, but not a sound comes out of her, not a tear rolls down her face. Instead she swallows it, reins it in with a strength that is surprising and his eyes stay on her as she cuts across the yard, passing the vegetable patch Rick has been obsessed with and the squealing pigs in the pen; a rather new addition to the yard, and he knows where she is headed.

Part of him feels the flash of anger and it's enough to tempt him to call out to her, tell her she has no business being near the crosses standing as a reminder of their sacrifice in making this place as close to home as they could, but he doesn't. Instead he watches as she crumbles, dropping to her knees, one arm wrapped tightly across her chest, a hand pressed to her mouth.

He was expecting her to cry now. Only she doesn't, she just stares, eyes as green as moss carefully focused ahead of her and he shakes his head. The damn girl is something else.


End file.
